Counterfeit Harleys
by DarkObsessions
Summary: A different take on the notion of Joker having had multiple girls before his Harley. After learning of these 'other' Harleys, Harley is distraught. But she doesn't know the whole truth, there's more to the story than Joker has led her to believe. Johnny Frost reluctantly tells her what's really going on, causing Harley to reconsider the situation and its connotations.


**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own anything from the DC Universe. It is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this, nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only. 

****AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** I think it probably goes without saying but despite my writing about it, I do not actually condone or romanticise this sort of abusive relationship. For me, these two lunatics are just a really interestingly twisted fictional couple that hold a morbid sort of appeal. I really appreciate any reviews and feedback you guys can offer. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy :)

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"He had a room full of them. A whole fucking room, Frost!" Harley sobbed, angry and devastated all at once.

"Whoa there, Quinn. Slow down. A room full of what?" Frost asked awkwardly. He'd found her sobbing out back behind the hideout, apparently unable to bring herself to leave the premises even after whatever the boss had done to her to get her so worked up. Frost wasn't exactly accustomed to weeping women throwing themselves into his arms, but upon spotting him, Harley had done just that. They weren't even close, not really. No one got close to the boss's girl, at least not without a death wish. Something of which Frost most assuredly did not have.

He wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation.

"He told me it'd only ever been me, that I was special." She whimpered. "But then he showed me all them bodies... All those other Harleys, the ones who came before me. I wasn't special at all..."

Frost shifted uncomfortably. "Look, he'd probably kill me for saying anything, so you didn't hear it from me. But...Those other girls aren't from before." He paused, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "They came... after."

"What?" She sniffled, lifting her face from his tear-soaked chest to look up at him with damp and swollen doe eyes. Quite the sight, this one; lipstick smudged and mascara running down her face like some twisted caricature of a Emmett Kelly painting.

Frost sighed, hoping to God she wouldn't dare let any of this get back to the boss. "After you left, the boss got a little... nuts. Well, nuttier than usual anyway. He started talking about replacing you, about how girls like you oughta be a dime a dozen. Said he figured since he'd made you, he could just as easily go out and make another..." He paused when she made a sound somewhere between a snort and a sob. He rushed to get the rest of his explanation out before she started up the waterworks again. "But it didn't work, not really. Each time we brought him a girl, he'd get her to, I don't know, audition. Some of them passed, some of them didn't. But all of em wound up dead."

Harley frowned, giving him a confused look as she leaned away from him to swipe at her eyes. "Why?" she asked innocently.

Frost shrugged. "He'd always find something wrong with them, some reason they weren't good enough. Too skinny, too fat, too tall, not clowny enough..." He paused, remembering a particularly odd complaint about one of the girls. "Not enough of an accent." Shaking his head in bewilderment, he raked a hand through his hair before continuing. "Plenty of those girls were damn near perfect, wasn't any reason he couldn't have just kept one. I'm sure he could have worn down any one of them, given the time. But between you and me, I don't think he wanted to. I think he just wanted them to be you, kept trying to twist them into that original mold. When they inevitably wouldn't fit, it only pissed him off." He sighed, as if the solution was clear as day and everyone but the boss could see it. "They just weren't you." He stated plainly. He wasn't trying to sugarcoat things or butter her up, only calling it as he saw it.

Harley looked stricken, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. Mercifully, she shifted away from him and moved to sit on a crate across from him with her hands in her lap. "He wanted to hurt me, make me think I didn't matter, and that I was replaceable..." She said softly before drawing her knees up on to the crate and wrapping her arms around them.

Frost nodded. "I imagine that was the idea, yeah."

"But if you're telling me the truth, then I do and I'm not..." She said evenly, her lips brushing against her drawn knees as she spoke. For a moment she only contemplated the concept quietly, her brow deeply furrowed with concentration. Finally, she lifted serious and questioning eyes to meet Frost's. "You are telling me the truth, aren't you, Frosty?" There was an unspoken threat there, a promise that he'd come to harm if she was ever to learn otherwise.

With her words, Frost was immediately reminded of why Harley and the boss had gotten on for so long. Underneath that pretty, innocent and fragile looking exterior, beat the heart of someone just as mad as the Clown. She came off milder, more subdued, less fragmented; but she wasn't, not really. She'd slit your throat just as readily as the boss would. It was an easy thing to forget, easy to get caught up in her tears and child-like manner.

It was the sort of forgetfulness that got you killed.

Frost crossed his arms over his chest, giving her a look which he hoped came off as decently imposing. "Yes. Though now I think I'm starting to regret it."

She ignored his comment and lifted her face away from her knees, tilting her head to the side. A ghost of a smile fluttered across her mouth. Something that bordered on excitement colored her girlish voice. "So he misses me?" She set her feet down on the ground and leaned forward on the crate. "He's been collecting Harley-shaped corpses for months just because he'd rather not admit it?"

Frost said nothing, letting the silence speak for him. It was safer that way.

Harley brought her hands together with a loud clap, a sudden and gleeful giggle bubbling up from her chest. "That man loves me!" She declared confidently, her eyes and face now ablaze with smug triumph.

Jeeze, what was it with these clowns and spontaneous mood swings?

Again, Frost shrugged. "Look, all I know is he's a mess; even more destructive, reckless and impulsive than usual. He shot two of my guys yesterday; no fuck up, no provocation, just shot em dead. They were good guys too, loyal as hell." He shifted uncomfortably, stuffing his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. "I ain't gonna presume to know what goes on in that guy's head, cause I'm sure it's nothing that'd make sense to me anyhow. But it doesn't take a genius to see he was better off when you were still around."

Harley had begun grinning madly. Frost rolled his eyes, speaking on a exasperated exhale of breath. "You know how he is, he ain't keen on sentiment and he ain't gonna cop to any of this. He'd sooner just waste you than admit he doesn't hate having you around."

Harley nodded enthusiastically, that wild grin of hers still dramatically splitting her face. "Yeahhh," She cooed dreamily. "My Puddin's got commitment issues."

Frost arched a brow, clearly thrown by her drastic downplay of the situation. "That's one way to put it."

"Mmhm." She hummed in agreement before pushing herself up off the crate and bouncing over to Frost's side. She flung her arms around his neck and plastered a loud and sloppy kiss on the side of his right cheek, just under his eye. He stumbled a little with the impact of her, had to level out his arms to keep his footing.

"Thanks a million, Frosty! You're the best!" She declared cheerily as she clasped her hand behind her back and took a solid step back to grin up at him.

He frowned, looking her over like she'd grown a second head. "Er... Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Damn nutty broad.

How she could be so hopelessly enamored with a homicidal maniac was beyond him. How the boss hadn't just killed her already, was even more perplexing. But if crazy was what those two maniacs were looking for, they'd sure as hell found it in each other. One would be hard pressed to find anyone else even half as screwy.

Turning on her heel, Harley gave Frost a backwards wave before bounding off into the night. He assumed she was headed off to find her crazy other half, hopefully to straighten a few things out. If he was lucky, she'd keep her mouth shut about this little rendezvous. Really lucky, and maybe those two lunatics would just throw a couple punches, kiss, and make up. It would sure as hell make his life a lot easier. Maybe then he could stop mopping up their messes and playing secret intermediary.

Right. Sure. That'd be the day.


End file.
